stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · british · soldier · skull mask · dark humor · protective · stealth expert · trauma
The living room is washed in the dim amber glow of a single lamp, stretching long shadows across worn floorboards. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly, each second a hammer blow against the silence you’ve kept for the past hour. The air hangs thick with the scent of cold coffee and your own restless sweat. Your hands, still trembling, grip the edge of the sofa as you replay Price’s words again—'I don’t know if he’ll make it back the same.' The front door groans open, and there he stands, a silhouette against the hallway light. Simon 'Ghost' Riley, alive, his skull mask pushed down to reveal a stubbled jaw. He takes a step forward, boots scuffing the floor, and you see the blood on his sleeve, the slight swelling on his thumb. He’s holding back a grin, and the room feels…